


I Just Adore, The Boy Next Door

by smothermeinrelish



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: 1950s, Early Days, F/M, First Love, Flirting, Liverpool, Love Triangles, M/M, McLennon, Multi, Quarrymen, Rock and Roll, Teenage Rebellion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-14 17:52:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17513171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smothermeinrelish/pseuds/smothermeinrelish
Summary: Growing up next door to Paul McCartney was an eye opening experience.  Jamming guitars, listening to records and exploring new teenage freedoms, were just a few of the moments Emer Murphy can recall about her wild times with the young band of musicians.





	1. Mothers

Foolish really, to have a baby at forty-six years old, yet for my mother it was expected. Dad wanted ten, a good round number. Of course a few had been lost along the way, when the most recent one came early, and breeched, it was too much for mum and the blood loss was too much. Dad blamed the midwife, and nurses. Never mind he was the one who put her in the predicament. As the relatives and neighbors gather for the wake in the tiny front room of our council house, it was clear that all my mother ever did was serve my father, and raised babies. She was a kind woman, who never put herself first.  
My older sister, Cliona, had watched my mother’s life unfold, and she was adamant to not follow in her footsteps. “Good lot it did her, having all of us, while Da’s off having a good time. She didn’t deserve this, never had a chance to live her own life. “She could have been more, she should have had more. I’m not making the same mistakes as her.” She angrily trailed off. I scanned the room half listening to her words of dissent for our father. She and him had always been oil and vinegar; perhaps it was because they were so much alike. My aunties and dad sat in a daze near the fireplace, my littlest brother Cian sitting on aunt Betsy’s knee. He was five last month, and he should have been the last one. Mum took it in stride, “The Lord has plans for us Murphys.’ At sixteen, I was already skeptical of the Irish Catholic woman’s place in society.  
My older twin brothers conformed to the values they were instilled as growing up in post war Liverpool. Both married, working on the docks with broods of their own. So important to keep family close and our Irish roots, they lived in the neighboring council houses on Forthlin Road as well. It was inescapable to get into mischief or socialize with out a member of the Murphy family knowing your business. I myself had been out with boys, no thanks to sneaking out our bathroom window meeting up in parks under the cover of darkness to have an ounce of privacy. Which is reason why when Cliona turned eighteen, she left our cramped, shared bedroom to get a real job at John Lewis working at the hat and glove counter. She shared a flat with two girlfriends, and fortunately for me, only one bus transfer away from our house. We could use the excuse of sisterly bonding to spend time together, enjoying ciggies and drinks without the prying eyes of a family member to rat you out to Father Mackenzie at the next parish function.  
I was grateful that Cliona had high hopes for me as well, ‘Never settle.’ She told me, the world was not big enough for her. Forget being someone’s wife, she had enough kids to deal with, why would she have wanted her own. ‘Promise me you get out of there when you are able. We can go wherever we want!’ Realistically, her plans were pretty far fetched, but the positivity she radiated kept me focused on where I wanted to be someday. Now back to the reality of the situation, ‘getting out’ was not possible as I happened to be the oldest still living at home, and the only female. I could sense in my bones it was only a matter of time before my aunties went back to their lives, and I filled in as make shift ‘mum’ for my dad and brothers.  
Scanning the small sitting area to check tea cups and sandwiches on the serving tray, I noticed the McCartney men enter our front door. Dressed smartly in black the three men somber faced approached my dad and aunties to express condolences. Mike, the youngest kept his head low, and moved towards Connell, my brother who was his same age. Seeing as how Paul and Mike had lost their mum only a short time ago, the mirroring scenario was probably causing more pain than they let on. Northern men don’t cry, you soldier on. When the Murphys paid visit to Mary’s wake, neither boy was around. I always thought it was because it was too hard for them. Paul had told me later that Jim had sent them away, and didn’t want them to be upset. From listening to him retell the days after Mary died, I could tell it had shattered he and Mike.  
Jim and Mary McCartney were the best friends my folks could ask for. Living right next door meant that Mary assisted with the deliveries of my two youngest brothers, and Mike and Paul were constant figures in our home. Paul was a little younger than I, but he always acted older, posh if you didn’t know he was a working class kid like the rest of us. When dad discovered Jim was a musician, it fueled their friendship. Late night jam sessions with my uncles and the McCartneys became a regular occurrence. Mum and Mary in the kitchen fixing butties, keeping the beers and whiskey flowing to the late hours. Most of the time, Jim played piano and dad played fiddle with others coming and going with guitars, accordions and whatever instruments they played. These were some of the happiest memories of my childhood. It was nights like those where Paul and I would sit up late listening to the fellas playing traditional tunes, and jazz. After a few whiskeys, dad would call me over to sing songs along with them, Paul too; the boy had an ear for harmony. We giggled and teased each other on messed up words, ending with playful punches and stolen kisses on each other’s cheeks. Paul was my first kiss, and although I was nine at the time, he would always have a connection to me.  
The more recent times the sessions would happen, Paul would join in playing guitar with the men. Although he played it upside down, being left handed, he kept up with the rest of them. As we grew bolder in our actions, he and I would steal away drinks from the adults, and sneak away to the back steps to share the awful mixtures of beer, gin and whiskey. Laughing like mad, we would stumble around and dance pretending it was just the music making us silly. It was in these hazy nights when the stolen kisses became bolder; soon I’d find myself pressed up against the pantry with Paul’s tongue deliciously tasting my mouth. Running hands over my hips, up my waist to catch a squeeze of my budding breasts. Each of us breathing heavy, pulling away with foreheads touching gasping for air. Connecting our eyes to communicate the need to stop, all the while throbbing with wanting more. It would be too convenient to be so close when the teenage hormones reared their heads. How would we remain friends? What would our families say? In an unspoken agreement, we never took things further.  
After Mary died, the jam sessions ended. Now when I saw Paul, it was in passing from the bus stop to school. Or around the chippie with his mates, he was always polite and sweet. Although the physical affection ended, we still maintained a friendship that was tied through our families. It was never much of anything, not like he was my boyfriend, but when I saw how much he had grown up in the time following his mother’s death, my heart beat a little faster. He was always cute, with chubby cheeks and his beautiful eyes, now he had grown taller and his baby fat was gone. Like many boys we hung around with, he had begun to adopt a “teddy boy” style like Elvis. Pompadour hair combed back with grease, tight drainpipe trousers and form fitted t-shits. Any young girl would be right lucky to have snogged Paul McCartney, unfortunately for me, that opportunity had passed.  
Now here, standing in our front parlour, he looked like the young boy I played with and sang songs with. The confidence and maturity of his growing up was lost on his face with a shared anguish of grief. When our eyes connected, a look so sad made me fight back tears that I had thought were all cried out over the previous days. Distracting myself with a few dirty dishes setting on the coffee table, I leaned over and picked them up, breaking the gaze. Rushing off to the kitchen, I couldn’t allow myself to break down in front of him. Standing over the sink, the tears erupted, sobs choking from my dry throat. Frantically searching through the cupboards I opened and slammed until I found mums secret pack of Chesterfields and a book of matches. With a shaky hand, I lit the cigarette and deeply inhaled letting the smoke burn my lungs. I closed my eyes, letting the buzz saturate my body, allowing me to feel new. “I thought only I knew where mum hid her fags?” I turned around abruptly to see Cliona sitting in the corner chair of the kitchen lighting a cig of her own. “Christ, you scared me ta death, don’t tell Da.” “It’s ok, I think you are justified to have one in this situation.” I sat down at the chair across from her, wiping my eyes and nose. “I look like a right mess, I’m sure.” She smiled, “Nah, you’re always pretty.’ Letting the smoke roll out of her lips, “I bet Paul agrees with me.” “Oh God, none of that now, he’s the last one I need to be thinking of.” She clicked her tongue at me “I see how you look at each other, don’t pretend like you don’t find him good looking. Hell, I think he’s a right handsome chap but, I fancy older guys. Ya know” I looked up from my cigarette to see her teasing grin. I stifled a chuckle, as I realized what she was trying to distract me from. ‘You’re going to be all right Emer, you’ll see. I’m not far, you can always come stay with me when you need to let loose an be free.” She reached out and grasped my wrist, gently rubbing her thumb over my pulse point.  
A swing of the door broke our moment and we both turned to find Paul standing in the kitchen with a stack of saucers and tea cups. He cleared his throat a bit before walking to the sink to set down the dishes. “Tidying up a bit, don’t mind me.” Cliona stood up and stubbed out her cigarette, walking to the door back into the parlour before detouring to Paul and placing a soft hand on his forearm causing him to turn around from the tap. “Thank you Paul, we’re very glad you came over.” She leaned over and placed a soft peck on his cheek. He blushed at her attention to him, and said with a soft smile “Don’t mention it.” She left the room and after a beat, he let out a deep sigh. “What do you say to getting a bit of fresh air? Its nice out today, not a cloud in the sky. We could take a walk?” “I’d like that, yeah.” As a steadied myself from the table he was waiting for me with an extended hand. When I touched his warm palm, it pulled me to him and I was met with an embrace. A full hug of his long arms wrapped around my back as my face buried into his chest, taking in a deep breathe of his smell, crisp linen and woody aftershave. He rested his chin on the top of my head, and deeply inhaled letting his lips lightly touch my hair. “I’m so sorry Emer.” He whispered quietly as he pulled me tighter. I nodded and felt the tears begin again. We stayed like that several more moments, until his arms shifted lower towards the dip of my waist. I pulled away and looked up at him, remembering the feel of his lips on mine, I had to step away before a mistake was made. Taking his hands, I led him to the back door leading to the garden patio. “I believe a walk was mentioned?” I grinned at him, met with a toothy smile. “Shall we?” he put on a posh little voice and offered his elbow. Just like that, I left behind the weight of the house. Only to be greeted by a sunny day and a fresh, cool breeze. It was going to be all right; little did I know what lied ahead for me in those years to come.


	2. Walk with Me, Talk with Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ensues. Be prepared.

We walked along the path through a nearby park; Paul was doing his best to distract me. Telling a story about how a few weeks back his mate George was chatting up a bird in front of the ice cream shop, being so distracted by impressing the lass with his charm he let his cone melt all over the girls fancy shoes. “You should have seen her face! George was so desperate to chat her up; he had no idea what had happened. He just stood there dumb like when she left in a huff! It was brilliant!” He laughed as he told the story, and his whole body shook with the memories of how daft his friend was.  
Listening to his tales of his latest music interests, and records he wanted to hear, we found ourselves back on Forthlin Road, and I couldn’t bring myself to go back inside my house. Paul sensed my hesitation, as I had lumbered along the walk like a zombie. I was so tired, but the last place I wanted to be was home. “You want to come in a bit and listen to some records? I got the new Elvis LP.” He stated proudly. “Sure, that’d be nice. “ I exhaled deeply and followed him up the path to the front door.  
Once inside, he took my sweater and hung it on the hooks by the front room. Strange walking into the mirror image of my house, although, theirs was much more sparse. Since Mary had passed, the house had the appearance of being home to bachelors. “I’ll just go put the kettle on,” as he scurried towards the kitchen. I made myself at home in parlour,, taking a seat on the settee. A few minutes later he emerged with two cups of tea. “Right, so where’s this new Elvis record? I’m dying to hear it.’ “It’s uh, upstairs in my room, is that alright?” He was nervous, I could tell right away. “I don’t want to shock you, but I have been in a boy’s bedroom before. In fact, I’m pretty well out numbered at home so there isn’t much I haven’t seen.” Clearing his throat, I stood up and nudged his leg ‘Lead on then.”  
His room was clean, much too tidy for most boys his age. The single bed pushed along the wall below the window. I observed the posters and pictures on the wall, and saw his guitar propped up in the corner by his desk. He had crouched down to flip through a milk crate near the record player to find music for us. I worked my way to the bed, placing my cup of tea on his nightstand. “Ah ha!” he held up the album and raised his eyebrows in a goofy gesture.  
Placing the needle on the vinyl, he let the music start before he began singing along to Jailhouse Rock. Sauntering over to the bed wiggling his hips a bit just like Elvis. That made me laugh, and my smile interrupted when he said, “There it is! I thought it was gone forever…” I rolled my eyes at him. “Give us a look at that cover,” I asked. He walked back over to the crate and handed it over to me. There he was, Elvis Presley, looking finer than any man had the right to. “You fancy him?” Paul asked me as he bounced down on the mattress next to me. “How can you not? The man is a God. I doubt you would find any birds in Liverpool who DIDN’T fancy him.” Paul moved abruptly and began to open his bedroom window, laying down on the mattress while his feet touched the floor.  
The air that blew in was chilly, but smelled wonderful, crisp and floral. I took a few deep breaths and laid down next to Paul in the same manner. He began to loosen the knot of his black tie and the first few buttons of his collared shirt. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, smelling the sweet flowers. “What is that? Turning my head to look at Paul next to me. His eyes closed as he inhaled the fragrance. “Hmm, lilac bushes from Mr. Heath’s garden. S’nice isn’t it?” We both were silent; I thought briefly perhaps he had dozed off. The quiet was interrupted when Paul interjected almost whispering, “I’ve heard it get’s easier, though I don’t know when that will occur. You just have to go on, you know? Take each day as it comes. Sometimes, I couldn’t bring myself to get out of bed in the mornings. Now though, there are distractions, good things like the guitar, my mates and Elvis.” He opened one eye and nudged me with his elbow.  
“Thanks for this, you know, it’s the most normal thing I’ve done in the last week. You don’t realize you rely on something so simple as records until you don’t hear them for a time.” After saying that, we both turned on our sides so we were facing each other. He scanned my face, looking intently at my eyes and mouth. Soon his eyes wandered lower and I felt myself, feel a little self-conscious of his attention.  
While Paul had thinned out, and grew into his looks as a young man, I had also gone through some development myself. Taking after my mum’s ‘Black Irish’ roots, raven hair and green eyes were only a few traits I had inherited from her side. While most girls my age were padding their bras, I had begun to spill over in mine. Blessed in that area, I was given more attention than other girls in my class. Of course the fullness didn’t stop there, my hips and arse were expanding too. Not being as tall as my sister, I looked for new ways to cover my curves. When I complained to Cliona and her flat mates about my thickness, they all envied me for how much I looked like Sophia Loren, wishing they had fuller figures themselves.  
Paul had known me for most of my young life; surely he was aware of the changes I had gone through recently. Staring at me now, in my dowdy black dress and mum’s pearl necklace. I tried not to focus on the fact that my tits were causing the buttons to pucker open on my aunt’s dress I had borrowed for the wake.  
The next song that began to play was slow, a ballad. Elvis’s voice was mellow and sultry. The atmosphere in the small room changed quickly, in all the sorrow and sadness of recent days, the overwhelming urge to feel something new crept into my brain. Paul nonchalantly tugged at a thread on his blanket, and when he looked up into my eyes, I gave him a brief nod of consent.  
Before the moment registered my fingers were tangled in his thick hair and his lips crushed down onto mine. Deep, languid tongue thrusts into each others mouths while hands frantically tore at buttons. To catch my breath from the rough kiss I turned away only to gratefully find Paul’s lips kissing down my jaw and throat to the opening neckline of my dress. His fingers deftly unthreaded the many black pearls down my dress, all the while placing hot, wet kisses open mouth down my body. When the dress was all but opened to my waist I sat up, still frantically searching for that mouth of his causing my heart to palpitate like it was going to burst out of my chest.  
He moaned into my mouth, ‘You done this before? Is this alright?” breathlessly nibbling on my bottom lip. I wrapped both arms around his shoulders and neck with my nails digging through the hair at the nape. “yeah, ohm, yes…’sokay’ I could hardly comprehend the words as he was now on top of me and we had managed to shimmy onto the bed in the proper direction. Readjusting to the new position I leaned up on my elbows to place firm kisses to his mouth, while his hips began to move between my legs where I craved that pressure. His fingers were wild, feeling up my side, under my bra. It was not enough; I had to feel him completely. As quick as possible, I unclasped my bra, shimmying it off of my shoulders. Allowing my breasts to be free caused Paul to hiss an intake of breath at the sight of my hard, pink nipples, begging for his touch. “Feel me, please, touch me Paul.” I whispered into the shell of his ear, trailing my wet tongue down his throat to the clavicle of his neck. He groaned, and without hesitation put his warm mouth over my left breast.  
His tongue flicked wildly over each nipple caressing and massaging with delicate touches. The sensations we driving me wild, and I found myself rearing my hips up more to feel the pressure of his cock pressed against his trousers. My hands found their way to the buckle of his belt and began to work at the metal while Paul pulled off of my tits to claim my mouth again. Panting heavily into each other’s mouths, I loosened the button and zipper of his trousers and gently slid my hand in to cup and massage his dick. “Oh shit, ugh, yes, don’t stop….” He growled with his eyes closed hovering above me. With one arm supporting him next to my head. His left hand moved to join where mine was now tugging at his cock through his boxers. Our hands brushed briefly as I continued the ministrations to him, and the next thing I felt was my thighs being spread further apart to allow for his fingers to knead the flesh of my arse. I lifted my hips to give him what he wanted, a thick handful of my skin to squeeze while his fingers crept up to the wetness I had been leaking through my knickers.  
Our lips connected and when I felt his guitar calloused fingers delve into the wet folds, I cried out with a pant of want that was so loud, I was sure the neighbors could have heard the activity. With my hand stroking his cock, the pre cum had gathered at the tip of his dick, making my fingers sticky with his arousal. It was the most turned on I have ever felt, and pulling my hand away from his member, I heard a whimper from the loss of contact. I held his stare as I brought my fingers to my mouth, showing him the mess he had made and I slowly licked my thumb and fingers, deeply taking their length into my throat. This caused a reaction I was not ready for; a deep growl erupted from his throat. Hoisting my dress further around my waist he had adjusted his weight between my legs, and now his naked prick was rubbing frantically at the soft cotton of my knickers. Pulling aside the fabric of the panties, the head of his cock stroked wetly over my most sensitive flesh, never entering but teasing the nerves of all my most sensitive places. A thrumming in my groin, I felt a rush of heated vibration begin to erupt in me. I arched my back as Paul clutched to my thigh, squeezing the flesh over and over. “Jesus Christ, oh fuck, that’s it….so good.” He grabbed my tits thumbing my nipples with pressure, thrusting his pulsing cock over my hardened nub. The pleasure was too intense and I was coming, the spray of wetness gushed out of me, onto his dick and in that moment he bit his lip and came with a deep groan. Whimpers leaving his lips as the pulse of come hit my chest and neck with the force of his thrusts.  
He collapsed on top of me, hearts pounding, and breathing ragged. Sweat had formed on his brow, causing the hairs to stick to his face. It took a few moments to recover from the intense orgasms we had both achieved in the little space of Paul’s room. Elvis still crooned in the background, and soon Paul had rolled off of me to recover a towel tucked between the mattress of his bed.  
We cleaned each other off and gave a few more light pecks to each other on the mouth, and cheeks. Slowly redressing myself, I moved to lay against Paul’s chest as he lazily pulled me to him. “So, can I come over again to listen to records with you?” I asked, teasing slightly. “Mmm, you can stop by anytime you need to, just make sure Mike and Dad are out.” He chuckled at his last sentence, and I playfully poked his ribs.  
Paul walked me to the front door of my house, and hugged me tight. Kissing my cheek as he pulled away. “I’ll see ya soon, yeah?” nodding to me as he walked down the concrete path to the sidewalk. “Of course you will, I’m right next door…”


	3. Distractions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't got any feedback if people are liking this or not. Anyway, here is chapter 3, UNBeta'd. We finally meet John. McLennon is coming shortly! Leave me comments or suggestions, I have an idea of where this is going but could always take prompts.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

In the days following my little tryst with Paul, my mind focused on little else but the intense climax I shared with him. It clouded all of my thoughts; I chalked it up to the sadness and mourning I was feeling. Sure, I had been with boys, in fact I was no prude. Losing my virginity at fourteen and having an older sister to give me advice and ideas, I was fairly comfortable with sex. None of the other guys I had fooled around with had ever made me feel as good as Paul had. Telling myself it was only a one-time thing, a reaction of my grief. Surely a replay of the situation was not going to happen.  
As I lay in my shared room in the middle of the night, my brain kept replaying the images of what had happened. Finding myself aroused from the thought, I crawled out of bed quietly, and made my way to the bathroom. As soon as the door clicked shut, I touched myself. Slowly, teasing my nightgown up my thighs to caress the way he had touched me. Rubbing my fingers over my knickers, feeling the dampness already present, I pushed my hand down the elastic waistband and let my fingers tickle the sparse hairs. When my fingers contacted the firm button of nerves within my wetness, I inhaled sharp, biting my lower lip to stop my heavy breaths, and faint moans I flicked over my flesh faster now. All the while remembering Paul’s prick doing the same to me. My knees began to shake, hips thrusting up to meet my finger’s ministrations, a curling tightness began to clench within me. “Oh Paul, fuck.” I whispered to the ceiling with my eyes closed and then it happened, a gush of wetness dripping down my thigh as my body convulsed into the most euphoric pleasure once more. Breathing deep and panting, my back slid down the door until I sat on the floor with my legs spread in front of me while pulses of my orgasm continued to throb through me. It was in my afterglow, I realized I was completely and utterly fucked by what that boy had done to me.  
Telling myself to avoid him was easier said than done. Walking home from the bus stop on a Friday afternoon, I was focused on my plans for meeting up with Cliona later that night. “Hiya Emer!” Paul skipped up behind me and playfully yanked on a long curl of my hair. The unkempt appearance of his uniform and his guitar slung across his back told me he had skivved off school to start his weekend early. “So what do ya have going on tomorrow?” he asked me when we were side by side, he seemed so casual, like nothing had changed, maybe I was reading to much into this. “Oh, not much really, going to stay with my sis tonight, but tomorrow just helping me aunties with washing and such.” What a dimwitted response, why was I acting so stupid? Obviously, he was carrying on like nothing had changed, get a hold of yourself girl, it was just a fling. Running his hand through his hair, he cleared his throat before saying, “Da and Mike are off to me Aunt Jins ‘til Sunday, you wanna come over to listen to records again?” Ah, there it was, so perhaps he was interested in a repeat performance. “So you’ll be all alone like?” I looked at my feet as we slowed our pace towards Forthlin. He gave a little chuckle, “Yes, I suppose it could get a bit lonely, being all by myself.” He stopped, and turned to face me, I smirked and looked directly into his eyes “Well, we can’t let that happen.” Christ, this was stupid, why was I flirting with him? He bit his bottom lip and cocked his head slightly “Erm, me and my mates will be practicing for the upcoming gig, so they’ll be round a bit.” He stated awkwardly. “Right, well maybe I’ll stop by tomorrow then.” I tried to remain aloof to the prospect. “Got to get going round to Clionas then.” Cutting off the conversation, I continued to walk to home. Don’t turn around, I muttered to myself, but I couldn’t resist. Peeking back over my shoulder, Paul attentively looking at my arse and fumbled to light a cigarette. I gave him a wink, and continued down the sidewalk. Yep, definitely going to repeat that performance.  
Later that night, cozy in Cliona’s flat, she was trying out new eye makeup she had bought from the department store. Copying from a photo of Brigitte Bardot, she carefully painted the black wings out from the corner of her eyes. “…So, he asked me out to the pictures tomorrow night, and then to the pub after, seems keen on me, but not sure I’m interested in him, the mustache was a little too posh….” Flipping through a Cinema Stars rag, I nodded and pretended to listen to the new adventure of Cliona’s latest prospect. “You listening to me? Oi, Emer, you’re acting daft, what’s wrong with you?” I snapped out of my daze only to have her hop on the bed next to me jostling the magazine away. “Nothing, just tired is all.” “That’s a load of shite if I ever heard it, you look forward to our nights like these. Here you haven’t even asked for a drink or ciggie.” She pushed a flask into my hand, and went over to her vanity to grab her smokes. I swigged the warm liquid, letting my throat heat up from the whiskey. She lit a cigarette and handed it to me, I inhaled gratefully. “So then, who’s the fella?” as she leaned against the makeup table. “Wha? Nah, no fella, just ya know, um schools been a drag, and without mum at home, it’s just been a right mess of chores an’ such.” Distracting myself with the ciggie, I hoped she’d drop it.  
At that exact moment, Rita, Cliona’s roommate knocked on the door, peeking her head in, “Hey Lassies, just got some new records from Freddy, shall we put them on in the front room?” Rita was a telephone operator, and her boyfriend was an American GI who regularly sent her the latest rock & roll albums and good cigarettes. Making our way into the sitting room, the start of an electric guitar lick unlike any I had ever heard, thrummed through the small room. Listening in awe at this new sound, I could hardly believe what I was hearing. “What is this? I mean, who is it? Sounds new, and gritty.” Rita and Cliona laughed at my comment. “You don’t think this sounds totally different that all the other rock n’roll LPs you’ve heard?” Walking over to the player, I picked up the cover to the single. Link Wray & His Ray Men, Rumble. The chords were so powerful; I had to tell Paul about it as soon as possible. “Can I borrow this? I mean I’ll bring it back in a few days, I promise, I just need to share it with someone.” Rita was rifling through the other singles, and squealed at a single of Mel Torme. “Fine with me, just buy me a pint at the pub later.” She said. I carefully placed the vinyl single into the paper sleeve, tucking it into my overnight bag. Now I had a reason to drop in on him and listen to some records.  
Later that night, we ended up at the pub just down the road from their flat. Packed to the gills with students from the nearby art college, the stuffy bar was thrumming with the vibe of sex, the pheromones thick in the air. Before going out for the night, Cliona had dressed me up with her new make up and teased my hair up big and tall. I had no problem getting into the pub, and most times I was bought drinks. Tonight was no different; I had shimmied into a tight pencil style skirt of Ritas and wore a baby blue angora sweater that clung to me in all the right places. Catching the attentive stares of college boys, and leers of the girls on their arms.  
Staying close to my sister and her pals, I couldn’t help notice two ted looking boys in the corner of the bar. Both had leather jackets and greasy hair, the taller of the two had a sharp aquiline nose, and a snarled lip. The softer one had high cheekbones and thick glasses. Making eye contact, I got up from the booth to refill my pint. Fully aware what I was doing, I nonchalantly ordered another cider from the bartender close to the two teds. Heaven help me for my taste in bad boys, really how harmful could they be?  
“Nice tits, if I buy ya that pint, ya fancy a suck to me cock?” in disbelief of the vulgarity of this boy, I turned to look him and slap him silly, but when I saw his dark almond shaped eyes peering into me, I felt the need to give him a go. “Nah, just did that for the bloke over there, an’ his spunk was right grotty, think I’ll pay for my own pints from now on.” Giving him a grin and arching my eyebrow. He barked a laugh, and broke his tough exterior. Obviously my response was not what he expected to hear. “Right, so ya fancy a shag or what?” “Persistent, aren’t you? Ya kiss your mum with that mouth?” “Nah, me mums fucked off, she knew I was a lost cause.” Bluntly stating the personal information. He pulled out a fag, and lit it, offering me one in the exchange. Taking a pull of the cig, I reached for my fresh pint and placed the shillings on the bar counter. “Well, sorry for all that.” Exhaling the smoke from my lungs. “Next one of yours is on me then, yeah?” I winked at him and walked back to the table without looking back at him.  
“He tryna’ to chat you up? Cliona elbowed me as I scooted in next to her. “Eh Rita, don’t ya know that lad over there? Squinty eyed bloke with the nose.” Cliona shouted across the table. Rita turned her head and saw whom she was pointing to. “Stay away from that prick, righteous asshole that one.” The other girls at the table laughed. I piped into the conversation, “Quite the mouth on him, can’t imagine he could get a bird with that tongue.” Another girl chimed in, “That’s the thing love, he can charm your knickers off if you let him, great fuck, and that tongue of his is fantastic for other things! Nasty Prick otherwise.” The table erupted in giggles at the raunchy comments made about the boy. A tingle of excitement crept up my abdomen, as I looked back to the bar, only to see him leering at us girls. Making eye contact, he just stared, almost as if he was undressing me with his eyes. “So what’s his name?” I asked, trying to sound disgusted. The girl with the first hand experience said, “Why that’s the notorious John Lennon.”


	4. Rumble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First taste of McLennon

Saturday morning found me asleep on Cliona’s couch, after she and her friends hooked up with some guys they had met at the pub. Making my way to the bathroom, I figured I’d clean up quickly and make my way home to share the discovery of Link Wray with Paul. Sneaking out of the flat before the others awoke; I was on my way to the bus stop before 8am.  
Showering and getting ready for the day, I made breakfast and tea and decided to begin the washing. My aunt helped, and I actually enjoyed my morning of housework. Taking the clean laundry outside to hang dry, I couldn’t help but peer over the hedge to Paul’s yard. I heard loud music being played, with the windows open; I could almost make out the song. At least he was awake, giving myself a little more time to work up the guts to go over and see him. Taking my time hanging the sheets and towels on the line, I hummed a tune in my head knowing full well Paul would be blown away when I brought over my latest discovery.  
Around 11 I made myself presentable in a cotton dress and a high ponytail. I took the record out of my bag, and made my way out to knock on Paul’s front door. Standing cool and calm in my sunglasses, I knocked lightly. On the other side of the door I heard shuffling, and eventually the unlocking of the door. He stood looking down at me looking completely disheveled. Perhaps he had drank a lot the night before? Wearing a white undershirt and loose flannel bottoms, it appeared I might have woken him up. “Good Morning? Sorry to disturb you, I just wanted you to have a listen of something I just got a hold of.” Snapping out of his grogginess, the McCartney charm was turned on in an instant. “OH right, yeah erm c’mon in! Sorry ‘bout the mess, had some mates over and didn’t get to picking up quite yet.” He led me into the parlour where beer bottle and cigarette butts overflowed the ashtrays. “If this is a bad time, I can come by later.” Feeling like I was intruding on his lie in. “Don’t be silly, just give us a sec to get decent.” He grinned and turned towards the stairs to his room. “I’ll just go put the kettle on then.” Making my way to the kitchen.  
I remained in the kitchen reading the paper in the corner seat of the dining table until I heard Paul coming back down the stairs. Freshly showered, he whistled while he walked in and poured himself a cup, not acknowledging my presence. Staying content and skimming the news, a second person entered the kitchen; I looked up to see a young man in boxer shorts and a white undershirt with messed hair and thick black-rimmed glasses. With Paul at the sink, back to me, the body that walked in immediately pressed its self up against his body. Letting out a groan and tilted his head to place a soft kiss on Paul’s neck, as he snaked his arms around Paul’s waist. A soft sigh was expelled from Paul’s mouth as the shorter man behind him gave him a soft squeeze.   
What was I witnessing? Did then not know I was still in the room? Keeping the paper in place hiding my face, I cleared my throat, and straightened the paper in a gesture to make my presence known. Keeping my face covered, I heard the shuffling of their bodies and the clattering of cutlery on the counter. Dramatically turning the page of the paper, I played dumb, and said, “Oh, I didn’t hear you come back down.” Standing up, I walked towards the icebox to get the milk. Not looking at either of them, my heart was pounding in my throat, and I wished I could have disappeared.   
When I turned around, the boy in the boxers was looking right at me, hands resting behind his back, in an awkward stance. When I looked at him, the blood in my veins turned ice cold. It was him, the bloke from the pub last night, John Lennon! Sensing the weird vibes, Paul promptly began to speak. “Emer, this is my friend John. John this is Emer.” Gesturing to us to do the polite thing and shake hands, John just pulled out a cig and lit it. Blowing the smoke up towards the ceiling. Now I just stood there like an idiot, looking back and forth between the two of them. Leave it to John to speak up. “Macca, you didn’t tell me you were friends with this bird. No wonder she wouldn’t shag me last night, she’s sweet on you.” He camp-ishly flicked his wrist and gave a kissy face towards Paul. “Sod off Lennon, you’re a terror.” Paul trying to recover his masculine upper hand pushed off John’s advances. Pouring a dash of milk into my tea, I took my cup and made my way out of the kitchen.  
Upon entering the dirty front room of the house, I paid little attention to the heated whispers I had left behind in the kitchen. Soon, John walked out and immediately upstairs to the bathroom. Paul followed after, taking a seat next to me on the couch. Pretending nothing had occurred; I reached over for the record and handed it to him. “I heard this last night, and I had to share it with you.” Smiling as he read over the liner notes and album art. ‘Just let me go put in on then,” He went over to the big stereo in the living room, next to the piano. Adjusting the nobs, he placed the needle on the record. Volume loud, the feedback from the electric guitar, sent goose bumps up my arms. I stood up to walk over to Paul as he just stood with his eye closed listening to the sultry riffs of the song.   
Not hearing John join us, he walked right over to us and looked at Paul with wide eyes, his tongue on the cusp of saying something about the music, but foregoing in order to listen to the heady sound. The three of us looked at each other, grinning like fools, this sound, the guitars, the feedback. It was enough to turn you on.  
When the song was over, Paul started it over again, and again after that. WE must have listened to it over a dozen times. After the second time, John broke the air “Christ, that’s fucking brilliant, who is that?” reaching his hand towards the cover. Running his fingers over the name of the group, he rocked on his heels and bit down on his lower lip. “It almost makes ya’ randy, listening to the way those strings thrum and twang.” I nodded in agreement. “You got this? How?” his tone sounding much friendlier that before. “Oh, I have my ways Johnny.” I said as I waggled my eyebrows. Paul laughed and nudged me in the ribs.   
“Well Paulie, go get the guitars! We have to start working on this if we want to play it at the gig next week!” Paul raced up the stairs to get to work. “So you really are playing a show then? I knew he jammed a bit, didn’t know he had a group.” Sternly looking at me, “He doesn’t have a group, he’s in MY band, we’re the Quarrymen.” “Well, I apologize for the misunderstanding.” Walking back towards the couch to take a drink of my now cold tea.  
Paul came back down with both guitars, and a notebook. The two of them sat down across from each other, eyeball to eyeball. Pretty soon it was if I wasn’t even in the room with them. Their banter, and wit was something more than I could decipher. Keeping the guitars going and humming different tunes. I picked up the full ashtrays and teacups and made my way to the kitchen to pick up before heading out.  
Returning to the parlour, I felt the need to leave, like I was an intruder on something I wasn’t supposed to see. The flit of John’s fingers over Pauls as he tried to demonstrate a chord, the light touches, to Paul’s face when John told a joke and teased the laugh lines around Paul’s eyes. A strange feeling took over me, and I felt like I was watching two people fall in love in a film. The gazes, the touches, and flirting, were too much not to notice what was happening between them.  
Saying goodbye, Paul excused himself and walked me to the front door, while John just kept strumming his guitar, and gave a grunt. “Brilliant find with that song! I’ll get it back to you tomorrow, yeah?” “No worries, you guys just do what you need to do.” I gave his upper arm a squeeze; he leaned down and brushed my cheek with his lips. “See ya’ round, and thanks.”   
It was late in the afternoon, and I made my way home through the back yard, taking the long way around. Thinking about what had gone on today in Paul’s kitchen, what was going on in the front room now that I had left? While is should have been absurd to think about, the idea of Paul and this John fellow touching each other romantically, I almost wished I would have remained quiet at the table, just to see what would have happened. Those delicious sounds he made when he touched me, would he sound the same with John? Did his mouth find the soft pleasure points on John’s skin the way he did mine? Filthy thoughts of two lads entwined in each others arms, now that was really something to think about.


	5. Stormy Weather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, hope you enjoy!

Sunday morning, the full Murphy brood at St. Peter’s for mass. Crammed into two rows of pews, the babies fussing, and stuffy incense filling the air. I managed to avoid going to confession, not without getting a leery eye from Father Mackenzie. Dirty bugger would have passed out in the box if he had heard the thoughts that had been going through my head all week!  
Shuffling home for family dinner, I chatted with my sister in law holding my baby niece Molly on my hip while we walked as a group, down the sidewalk. Getting closer to the council houses, I noticed Paul step out his front door with a broom and dustpan. Jim and Mike were returning, the evidence of his weekend alone had to be eradicated. “Good Morning Paul!” My father greeted the frazzled looking lad. “Ah good morning Mr. Murphy! How was mass?” “Lovely, just what the soul needed…” Bantering back and forth, I tried to ignore their conversation, and be enthralled with the baby.   
“Emer dear? Can you help Paul? Sounds like he has a bit of a task that needs a woman’s touch.” My father beckoned me over to the both of them. Handing over Molly to my dad, I sized up Paul a bit. “A woman’s touch eh? Suppose I can assist if you really are that helpless.” Although I teasingly sounded irritated, Paul genuinely looked to have an issue he needed my help with. “Right, well you two get that taken care of, we will get dinner finished up, you joining us Paul? Roasted chicken and mashed?” My dad was always inviting the McCartney boys to stay for meals. With the lot of us, what was one more mouth to feed? “Er, thanks Mr. Murphy, you sure I won’t be imposin’?” Paul shyly responded. “Of course not, son. Couldn’t let Jim think we let you starve while he was gone!” Brushing his hand of indifference, the Murphy clan made way to the house, leaving Paul and I to solve the problem.  
Windows all open were airing out the house of the staleness, and a hint of cleaning chemical floated on the breeze. The house was in pristine condition from where it was the day before. A soft rumble of thunder echoed outside, soon as I turned around to ask about the problem, Paul rushed me into the kitchen. “What’s the problem Paul, looks like you got things pretty well taken care of here.” Looking around attentively to the clean surroundings. “Its my mom’s lace, er the thing on the back of the settee, someone spilled beer on it, and I’m certain it’s ruined, God, Dad’ll kill me if he sees this…” The confident lad was coming undone; he really was panicked at the thought of his father actually killing him it seemed. “Hey” reaching for his hand to calm him, I looked at his eyes and saw tears beginning to well up. “Now it’s ok, let’s see what we can do.” Trying to reassure him. “Just, ya know, she made it, and we don’t have much left of her. I was careless, and now, if this is ruined, it’ll just be one more thing about her that’s gone, forever.” Somehow, the little doily had broken Paul up more than I had ever seen him.   
Hovering over the wrinkled fabric by the sink, he clutched it with his hand, as if his frustration with the item would go away. Taking my hand to gently cup the side of his face, I lifted his jaw to look at me. “Don’t worry, we can fix this, it will be alright.” I assured him with a smile. He exhaled deep and stopped a sob in his throat. Lightly brushing my thumb across his cheek, I could see the touch sooth his mind. Leaning down with closed eyes, he touched his forehead to mine. “Thank you, Emer.” He pulled me to him and held me close, hunching down to rest his head on my shoulder. Rubbing soft fingers across his back, I held him as long as he needed. Giving him a few moments to gather his gumption. He pulled away, and took an inward breath to steady him. “Alright, what can I do?” Analyzing the situation, I studied the fabric in question. It did appear stained, but nothing that couldn’t be mended. “Bicarbonate of soda? Do ya’ got any of that?” He opened up the cabinets nearby and searched, until he found a box at the back of one. Bringing it round, I took the box and dumped a bit into a clean teacup. “Toothbrush?” He looked at me like I was daft, but shrugged his shoulders and headed for the bathroom. I mixed a little water and created a paste, soon he was back and presented me with clean toothbrush. Watching me intently, I gently brushed the mixture onto the delicate lace, both of us silent as we waiting for the outcome.   
Slowly the dark beer color faded, the crisp white returned. Rinsing under warm water of the sink, I wringed it out as gentle as possible. Gesturing to the chair near the radiator, I had Paul lay it out evenly to dry. “See, good as new.” With a smirk, I felt like I had saved the day. The relief on his face was clear, and his shoulders sunk in assurance. Another roll of thunder, the sound of raindrops on the windowsill alerted us to the impending downpour. A breeze whipped through the kitchen, and the curtains billowed.   
“Shit, I left the windows open!” Paul ran out of the kitchen, up the stairs. I followed him out and began to close the ones on the main floor. Latching them tightly, I heard his feet thumping across the upstairs closing the windows with a bang. Coming down the stairs, we both hurried back into the kitchen to be met with a bright bolt of lightening and a crack of thunder. Quickly cranking the single panes shut, we both plopped down on chair at the table and smiled at each other. Just in the nick of time, the wind blew rain spatters across the kitchen windows. “That just came out of nowhere, hope this clears off soon.” Another crack of lightening, illuminating Paul’s face as he studied the rain.   
Since we’d be stuck inside for a bit, my curiosity got the best of me and I had to ask, “How long have you known John Lennon?” Taken aback, he sat up straighter in the seat next to me. Clearing his throat, he replied, “About a year, met him at the Fete over at St. Peter’s last summer. His band was playing, and we ended up hitting it off afterwards. He’s a good mate, really. Just comes off as rough. It’s all an act ya’ know. He told me, about what he had said to you, at the pub. If that was your first impression, then I can see why it was a little awkward when I tried to introduce you.” Nodding my head a bit, “Yeah, you could say it was something like that. Well, if you say he’s a good one, then I trust you.” Giving him a sly grin, “Besides, he seems very fond of you.” Paul looked up and visibly swallowed a lump in his throat, peering at me as if I knew a secret. Nervousness echoed in his voice, “He’s me best mate, I’d do anything for him, and I know he’d do the same for me.” My hand crept over to his knee, as he fidgeted in his seat. “Oh, I can see that about you two.” Implying what I had witnessed, but keeping neutral.  
“He’s keen on you, ya’ know. Besotted actually, after he met you Friday night, he came over here and wouldn’t shut up about this bird that gave him a run for it. Spent quite a bit of time talking up your tits. If I’d have known it was you he was wagging on about I’d have thumped him.” Getting all jealous and protective was a way to change the subject I suppose. Egging him on, I wanted to know more about what had transpired in the conversation about me. Scooting a little closer to be touching our thighs, I curiously asked more. “Well, I am a right catch, what else did he say?” Slowly, stroking my hand up and down his thigh, I gave it a squeeze as it moved higher. Now he understood where this conversation was going. Relaxing in his chair, he move his hand on top of mine, mimicking the touch as it hovered over his denim clad leg. “I’m afraid, if I repeat the phrasing he used, you might think me as a right arsehole.” Showing a wicked smile he took his hand away and moved it to my thigh, teasing my skirt up higher, higher until we both looked towards my lap and saw the tops of my stockings showing from underneath the hemline. Moving my fingers to the crease of his groin, I brushed lightly over the pressed stiffness in his jeans. Lifting his hips slightly, I breathily whispered, “I can be just as filthy as the lot of them, you see?” Guiding his hand with my own, it disappeared under my skirt to find the heat of my thighs guarding the wetness of my panties. Spreading my legs farther apart to allow his slow hand to feel me. Closing my eyes, I tilted my head back, biting my lip in anticipation. Paul had let out a soft moan, and leaned over to place his lips on neck, sucking and licking lightly. Keeping his hand gently toying between my legs, I arched my hips to allow more pressure.   
Feeling his dick strain against his tight jeans, I moved both hands to his belt, and began to undo the constraints of his pants. Moaning into my throat, I pulled back and allowed us to be face to face. Eyes half lidded, on the edge of arousal, we were breathing in time, waiting for the other to lean in and seal our lips. A flick of his finger and he brushed over my most sensitive spot, a high pitch gasp escaped my mouth, and was met with his plump, wet lips. Pressing kisses to my mouth, he was gentle, not like before. Licking into me, tugging at my bottom lip, taking his free hand to hold my face to him, running his thumb pad over my cheek, and across my lips. Opening my mouth in a gasp of pleasure, he slid his thumb in and pressed it in, my tongue welcoming as I sucked obscenely.   
Continuing with working on removing his denim, mimicking on his thumb the ministrations I would soon be doing to his cock. “Oh yes, that’s it.” Mindless chatter spilled from his mouth, as I freed his dick and felt it bounce from it’s confines. Shifting his hands away from the underneath of my skirt, I made my move evident as I withdrew his thumb, and slowly stood to hover over him. Taking my time, I steadied him with my hand pushing back his shoulder, indicating I wanted his full attention. I began to unbutton my blouse, teasingly, one by one, until it fell open and I shrugged it off my shoulders. Followed next by unzipping my fitted skirt. Turning slightly to shimmy it down over the thickest part of my hips and arse. All the while keeping my eyes locked on his. By this point, his left had had begun to tug, and stroke at his weeping dick, and the little catches of whines in his throat, let me know that the little show I was giving him was greatly appreciated.   
By now, I was only in my thigh high stockings and black knickers, having removed my brassiere. Spreading his thighs apart, moving closer, his hand reached out to my hip bone and moved up “These tits were on his mind?” as his hand cupped a heavy handful. Still tugging his self, he let out a breathy moan of approval, and half laughed at my teasing. “Fuck, your tits are fantastic,” Pulling a hand away from his dick, he grabbed my hips and began to suck on my hardened nipples. Kneading my full breasts he lapped and licked like a starved man.   
Dragging my panties lower, he tongued his way down my stomach, letting him taste and touch as much as he wanted. This is what I wanted, since our last encounter, the thought of letting him fuck me right here in the kitchen was almost too arousing, taking control by helping him pull the knickers down faster. Breaking his trail of kisses, stepping out of the disregarded undergarments, I pushed him back into an upright seat on the old wooden chair. Tugging in one swift motion his pants and underwear pulled down to his ankles. He reached to pull off his black t-shirt, exposing his pale, taunt chest.   
Standing naked except for my stockings, I placed careful hands on his shoulders and began to lower myself onto his pulsing dick. “I want you to fuck me Paul, I need it.” He shivered, and his eye opened wider with a look of shock and desire. Licking his lips, he steadied his hands on my hips, guiding me onto his shaft. Keeping eye contact, slowly I lowered myself onto him. The slickness dripped out of me meeting the head of his prick as he unabashedly thrust up into me. Leaning in to kiss his mouth hard, when we joined in wet heat, we both groaned in pleasure. He panted, and spread my arse cheeks as he lifted his hips into me further. Rising up to let the drag of his thickness feel all of me, I moaned at the ease of it, and the thrill of the debauchery I was partaking in.  
Movements sped up, the sound of heavy breathing and slick fucking over taking the noise of the rainstorm outside. Our arms tangled, and mouths fused enveloping each other with nips and licks of tongues and lips. Paul pulled away mouthing unintelligible words as he focused on chasing his pleasure. Moving my angle, I leaned back, beginning to bounce faster on his cock as his thumb trailed to the hairs at the top of my slit, and rubbed circular motions over my throbbing clit. This was it, “Fuck, yes, oh yes…right there, oh god,” biting my lip, I clenched around his girth, and came. My thighs shook, leaving trails of wetness it his lap, climaxing caused him to slip out of me. “Ohm, shit, fuck….Yes!” Pulling me tightly to him, my blur of ecstasy, was intensified by feeling his hot come pulse up and envelop us in sticky pleasure, still rocking hips into each other. Mouths meeting together for hungry kisses of post coital afterglow.  
Remaining, entangled on the old kitchen chair, our sweaty limbs slowly pulled apart, and we settled back to reality. Both rosy cheeked, and fucked out, we looked at the mess between our intertwined bodies. His hand reaching to the mixed fluids, looking up at me “How do you make that happen? I mean, God, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Taking his finger along my thigh and licking the wetness from it, he gave a satisfied moan. “You taste just like honey, it’s so sweet, I could taste you everyday.” Leaning down, I gave his fingers a lick, much to his surprise. “No one has ever made me do that before, only you.” Passionately pulling my face to his with both hands cupping my jaw, he kissed me deep. “I want to do that as long as you’ll let me. Please let me?” Kissing him once more, I smiled at his lips, and nodded.   
Soon the rain let up, we had made our way to the bathroom to help each other clean up, and be presentable before heading over for Sunday dinner. Acting as if the only occurrence had been to help Paul with a bit of laundry, we sat across from each other at the large dining table, and carried on conversations with everyone else around us. No one suspicious, and no hints of anything more that family friendly relations, we enjoyed the satisfying meal and pudding for desert. Paul hung around, chatting with my brothers and playing with the little ones, until he had to leave and meet his dad and Mike at the train station. He thanked everyone for the meal and company; I remained on the floor building blocks with Cian. Giving him a brief wave and goodbye, he skipped out the door, and made his way down the road.


	6. Queue

The night of their big performance was just the start of the whirlwind of energy that would soon take over. Paul and John had remained inseparable, seeing them around town, at the record store, chip shop paling around with my own friends; they were connected at the hip it seemed. Aside from our Sunday rendezvous in the McCartney kitchen, my interaction with Paul had taken a back burner in order for him and the band to focus on the upcoming gig.  
The night of the show was raining buckets, but it didn’t dissuade the crowd. Going to the all girls’ Catholic school in Allerton, I had been the best promoter for the show. Besides, where else were sexually frustrated lasses going to find an outlet on the gloomy Saturday night? I hung back near the bar proudly observing the swell of girls and boys, tapping away to the beat of the records being played before the Quarrymen started.   
Finding Cliona and her girlfriends in the crowd, I made my way back towards the stage with a bottle of coke. In the stucco white hallway leading back to the dressing rooms, the smoke was thick, and lads overflowed out into the hallway by the stage bathrooms. I caught sight of Pete Shotton, one of the fellow band members, “Ey, Emer! Glad you’re ‘ere. Did ya see all the birds out there? Suppose ya put the word ‘round at St. Agnes.” He appeared mildly buzzed as he took a swig of beer from the near empty bottle in his hand. Lighting a smoke, I nodded “You can count on me to get the word out, Paul back there?” Hunching off the wall, he nodded towards the open dressing rooms. “I’ll jus’ go get ‘im. Oh, after the show, back to mine, folks are in Scotland with me Gran. Bring some of those birds along!” He shouted to me as he moved through the crowd.   
Making his way out of the chaos, he approached me and huddled close to my side. “Well, if it isn’t me biggest fan?” Playfully slapping his pink cheeks, I handed him the cold soda. “It’s not a beer, but it’s cold.” “Ta luv,” giving me one of his signature winks and gulping down the brown liquid hastily. He licked his lips, and leaned over to peck my cheek. ‘Quarrymen! You on in five!!” shouted a skinny bloke with a clipboard and glasses. Handing the bottle back to me, he straightened the lapels of his light dress coat. “Macca!” Pushing through the throng of bodies with his guitar slung across his back, “Macca! That’s us! Get bloody movin’!” John approached us both, looking me up and down as I leaned against the cool cinderblock wall. “Lookin’ fit Emer,” biting his lower lip he exaggeratedly focused on my breasts and bum, the little black dress hugging me just right. Returning a bitten bottom lip of my own, “Show us what ya’ got Lennon, ready to wiggle yer arse? Unison of laugh came from both lads as they walked backwards to the dressing room. “ See ya after? Come round ta Shottons, Yeah?” Paul ducked into the little room, John following “Bring some friends with ya’!” He shouted as he disappeared.  
The set was rocking, bodies moving all over, sweat and smoke in the air as the rain outside made the auditorium air thick and humid. The ruckus on stage was pure fun. John and Paul clearly the front men of the group, laughed and jumped about to the songs they played. Buddy Holly, Chuck Berry, The Del Vikings one after the other. Their voices complimented each other perfect, and the small nods, and smiles notified the rest of the progression of the songs. Nodding along myself, I had a good, warm high from a sneaked flask of gin from my girlfriend, Esther. She was keen on Paul from the start. “Fancy he has a girlfriend?” Her mousy, dishwater blonde hair, done up with a big blue bow, bouncing to the beat. “Yeah, I think he’s got a bird up in Speke.” Diverting her attentions, I tried not to be the jealous type. “The bass player is having a get together at his place after. Want to go with me and me sister?” Esther looked like she was going to have a heart attack on the spot. “Of course!” She could barely contain her excitement.  
The set was coming to an end; Paul told me earlier in the week, they closed with “Oh Boy” by Buddy Holly. The guys finished to loud screams and cheers from the crowd. The energy had carried over to them as they thanked them and made their way off the stage for the next group to start shortly. Cliona and Rita made their way to Esther and I at the bar. “So what’s this talk of a party at Shottons?” “He lives right near here, and his folks are away.” I passed the information along to the older girls. “Let’s get a pint at the pub next to here first, you coming?.” Rita scanned the room looking for no one in particular. Esther looked shocked the well made up girls were inviting her to join them. “Yeah, uh yes! Sure!” Eager as could be, she replied. “Right, I’ll just dip off to the loo, meet ya’ there?” Gathering jackets and purses, the three of them made their way to the exit.  
Finding the queue to the ladies room exceedingly long, I thought there surely was another toilet in this place. Looking around near the stage entrance and dressing room, the corridor hallway from before had cleared out after the others bands had filed out. Walking past the dressing room that was thrumming with chatter and noise, I walked further to the darker end of the hall, unlit to find a white door with “WC’ painted in black on front, thank the Lord! Flinging the door open to a dingy sink and single stall put together with shoddy pieces of white washed fence panel, it left much to be desired. Next to the filthy urinal, the door to a single stall, I latched the lock and let the cracks in the panel shine in broken streams of light from the single bulb that hung from the ceiling. Getting down to business, the relief was great, and I wobbled slightly as I sat on the seat from the nice high from the gin. Pulling up my knickers, I heard voices get closer to the door and a loud thud heavy against the door. Fuck, of course, I’d get stuck in the Men’s loo!  
Hearing the door thrown open and clattering of feet on the tile floor, I hopped up on the toilet seat to hide my feet from being seen. Laughter and clumsy movements making way into the little room, when I heard the lock of the main door click. “What do you think you are doing?” a snicker of laughs, and the sound of clothes rustling, echoing after the words spoken. “Don’t think I didn’t see the way you were eyeing me, babe.” Shifting my weight to lean over to the wall, I peered through the thin crack to see them. Paul, back up against the door, eyes closed mouth open, panting slightly as his tongue quickly licked his bottom lip. John, hand loosely held to his neck where it met the shoulder, mouthing hot breath from behind Paul’s earlobe, trailing lower to where the buttons of his dress shirt had been undone. “I can’t resist you Paulie, when you are screaming into the microphone next to me…” Teasingly moving his hand lower, he pushed his body closer, giving his pelvis a deep thrust, and Paul gasped and opened his eyes to look at John. Moving a hand to intertwine with the thick auburn hair of John’s pompadour, Paul lifted his mouth to his and thrust his tongue into John’s waiting mouth. Wet sounds of breath and slick echoed in the small space, accompanied by groans in unison, and their hips brushed against each other. Frantic hands moved up and down, drawing out the deepest sounds of pleasure.   
I was a voyeur to this private moment. Not being able to look away from the undoing of buttons, and the natural way John hugged and touched Paul like he knew all of the pleasure points he held within him. Slowly, moving hands lower, he pulled away from Paul’s wrecked mouth and begin to unbuckle his belt. “Oh, fuck yes…please, please Johnny, suck me.” He whispered to the ceiling as John kneeled on the floor and undid his pants. Licking over the white fabric of his boxers, Paul shuddered and bit on his knuckles to muffle a pleasurable moan. “God, your cock is delicious,” teasing the flesh before her pulled the elastic down in a swift motion. Thrusting up into his mouth, his taunt thighs shook from pleasure as John bobbed up and down on his dick. Guiding his hot mouth, Paul looked down at the man swallowing his prick and smiled “So good baby, ugh, fuck, look so beautiful.” Concentrating on his pleasure, he softly caressed the side of John’s hollowed out cheeks. Increasing the movement, and placing his hand against Paul's hip, pressing him into the wall, the groans became deeper, and I knew he was close to coming. A shiver ran over Paul, and John squeeze him just below where is mouth was. Guttural breathing, rapid intakes filled the room, and soon both were humming in unison, Paul from pleasurable release, John from the sticky pleasure of Paul’s cum in his mouth.   
Leaning wrecked against the door, Paul lazily leaned over to pull John up to him. Kissing languidly, dipping his tongue and tasting himself on the lips that just swallowed down his orgasm. “Mmm, God, I love how you taste.” Lips teasing over Paul’s sweaty cheeks, flushed with euphoria. A small laugh escaped, as John licked the corner of his mouth. Encompassing his arms around the man who just pleasured him, he softly said, “I love you Johnny.” Moving his hand to tug at John’s apparent arousal. Brushing his hand away and kissing into the side of his neck, “Later, you can fuck me later, we best be getting to Pete’s.” Separating slowly, they stole a few more loving pecks to the mouth and attempted to tidy up their appearance. Checking the dingy mirror above the sink, they tucked back in their shirts and re-styled their hair. Swatting at Paul’s arse as they made their way out of the toilet, giggling and laughing into the dark hallway.  
Lowering my feet to the floor of the bathroom, I stood, and made my way out to the sink. Looking into the mirror, my blushed cheeks expressed the heat that had risen in me after enjoying the little show John and Paul had put on. Taking a deep breath, I smiled to myself. What was done in that little room should have given me the answer to where I stood with Paul’s intentions where his true feeling lied, but I didn’t feel that way, not at all? If anything, I wanted to be a willing participant in the thick of it.


	7. The Artist's Muse

After the show, the party at Pete’s became a blur for me. Cliona and Rita decided to avoid the scene, which left Esther and I to find the gathering along a quiet street just down from the venue where the lads had played earlier. Unassuming on the exterior, the inside of the Shotton’s council house was roaring with people.  
Originally, I couldn’t find anyone I knew, only to be pulled away from the door by Pete and led to the kitchen. Esther was engulfed into the swarm, and we floated into separate directions. Bursting open the kitchen door, “Now the party begins!” Pete shouted into the crowded room thick with smoke and all the lads in the band. Pulling me front and center, my flushed face giggling as a short glass of clear liquid was handed to me from John. His sweaty fingers brushed mine, and from the looks of his appearance, he was well on his way to being drunk. “’ere, have some of Granny Shotton’s Lavender Gin.” Taking the liquid down in one go to hoots and hollers it burned worse than it smelled. “Christ, what the bloody fuck is that?” my words cringing as my tongue felt thick. John laughed loud, and poured another one, “It only burns the first time! Here, have another go.” Pouring one for himself, he entangled his elbow through mine in a grand gesture and simultaneously we drank the clear fire down.  
Sweat, noise and bodies huddled together, and John was constantly at my side. That night at Pete’s, he clung to me as if I was his best mate. Being mutually drunk on the bathtub gin, we giggled like idiots and teased everyone in attendance. Soon, it was evident we began to annoy the other guests. Paul approached us, “You two seem to be having a good time.” glaring irritated at John, whose head was leaned on my shoulder while I twirled his auburn coif in my fingers. “Eh Macca, where ya been? Thought by now you’d ‘ave a bird bouncin’ on your cock.” I burst out in a fit of laughter at John’s observation. Paul was not having it; he let out a sign and turned to walk away from the two of us. “What’s that marriage spat all about?” I chided John with an elbow to the ribs. “Fuck off Emer.” He growled into my neck and nipped at my earlobe. It was clear his intentions were to eventually shag me before the night was over.  
Pulling me through the dissipating crowd, we moved to a back garden style glass atrium where the glow of the moon and stars could be seen through the ceiling. Plopping clumsily onto a wicker settee, John pulled a flask from his leather jacket pocket and took a deep slug, passing it to me after wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Throughout the room, I noticed several couples sitting in the dark, getting hot and heavy. John and I both scanned the room after lighting up cigarettes, “Oy, look at them? She’s got about a foot on that little bloke!” John laughed, after I pointed them out. “Well, look who found a wet place to put his dick…” lifting his chin in the direction of a fichus bush hiding a snogging Esther and Paul. “What a slut.” I mumbled with the cig in my mouth. “Don’t know ‘bout that, she looks frigid as fuck.” John observed with a cock of his head. Bluntly, “I was talking about Paul.” I said. The bark of laughter startled a few people around us. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.” Grabbing my arm, and entwining our fingers, John pulled me outside into the cool, clear night.  
Stumbling down the road to who knows where, we walked brushing shoulders and stopping to take pulls from the flask. I was more that drunk and soon began to stumble in my heels. “Easy there Miss Murphy, or I’ll have to carry ye’ on my back!” John slipped his arm around my waist and lead me on. “What’s with ya tonight? How come we’re chums now?” The alcohol loosening my tongue. “I’ve always considered you a mate Emer, maybe I just wanted to get to know ya better tonight.” His voice was honest, and I stopped walking. Poking a finger to his chest, I looked up into his dark eyes, “You’re still not getting a peek of me tits Lennon, so ya’ can cut the shite.” I wobbled slightly, and he grinned. “Darling, when you talk to me like that, ya make me fall in love with you!” Pushing him lazily, “Oh fuck off, Where’re we goin’ anyway?” Looking around, we had walked quite a ways from the party, and I wasn’t exactly sure where we had ended up. “Just up ahead, going to pop in on Stu.”  
The flat was a beatnik paradise. The smell of paints and turpentine hung in the air, the sound of old French jazz playing from a back room. Canvases lined the perimeter of the rather large open studio, which contained couches, and an area set up with a space for still life displays. Looking around, the warmth from the space was a nice change from the crowd at Pete’s home. “Eh’ Stu, you here?” John shouted from the front door after we made our way in. Taking off his jacket and throwing it on the floor, his tight black t-shirt stretching over his biceps. I caught a glance, but proceeded to take my shoes off before walking into the room. From behind a burgundy velvet curtain, a short man in black glasses appeared. “John? What brings you around? I was just heading out to meet with Sabrina.” The lad hopped on one foot as he put his other shoe on in an attempt to leave. “Ya mind if Emer and I hang ‘round a bit? Needed to gather my pens and sketchbook I left here the other day.” John proceeded to wander through the space as if he was quite comfortable with the space. “No worries mate, just lock up if you leave. ‘Ta Emer.” And just like that he was out the door and we were alone in this strangely artsy pad.  
Throwing a log into the wood burning fire, John stirred ashes and got the flames glowing again, lighting up the room. Taking a seat in a nearby chair, I slinked into it and curled my legs up under me. “So you spend time here a lot?” Observing the surroundings. “A lot of nights, he’s up painting all hours, so it’s alrigh’ to come round and jam, or write. Stu’s at Art School, I’ll be starting in the fall, good to surround one’s self with like minded individuals.” Standing up now, he walked over to the chair near me and pulled it over so we were facing each other. “You a painter then?” I asked surprised. “Nah, those are all Stu’s” he gestured to the walls. “I’m more of a sketch artist.” He lit up a smoke, stood and walked over to a small bookshelf gathering up some pens and a book. Sitting back down, he opened to a page and began to scribble. My head was still fuzzy from the party, but I was enjoying the warmth of the fire, so I closed my eyes to enjoy the fading music, coming from behind the curtain. A few moments of silence had passed and I found myself turning to look over at John. His eyes were focused on me, almost looking through me as his hands moved the pen across the paper. He tilted his head and pulled his glasses from his pocket to place on his face. Most boys in glasses never interested me, but seeing the intensity of his eyes as he continued to draw, made me see the beauty in his face. He was masculine, with a strong jawline, and thin lip, with a tongue he held between his white front teeth as he concentrated. His gorgeous fingers skillfully danced over the page as little smudges of ink gathered on his hand.  
“You drawing me?” I asked knowing the answer. Not looking up from his drawing, he replied “I like the roundness of your face, and your curves.” Feeling a little shy, I shifted in my seat a bit. “Don’t do that now, ya moved!” He half joked, but I could tell he was almost finished with the drawing. Flipping the book around he showed me what he had drawn, choosing to focus on my face, and round cheeks, he drew full lips. Almost in a cartoon fashion, he captured me. “Pretty good Lennon. Guess there’s more to you than I thought.” Standing up I walked closer to the fire, my bare feet cold from the journey to the apartment. “I suppose you get to draw a fair share of nude models too eh?” He laughed a little, “Nope, can’t say I’ve had much experience with those yet. Next year though, I’ll be the one in the back tryin’ to hide my stiff prick,” His nonchalance of the matter, made it normal as can be to be discussing things like nudity and arousal. He was so casual about it, I was certain he was quite a bit more experienced in sexual encounters than Paul or I. The next idea that came into my head could have been from lack of inhibition from the gin, or just the fact that I was finding myself very attracted to the older man.  
Turning back to face him, I began to unzip my dress, letting it drop to the floor. The soft thud of the fabric hitting the floor made him look up from his book. Without making eye contact, I continued to undress. Unrolling my stockings, one at a time, letting my hair down from the pins that kept it piled high on my head. Then after I had his gaze fixed with mine, I unclasped the hooks behind my back, letting the bra fall forward from my shoulders, down my arms to meet the pile of clothes on the floor in front of the fireplace.  
His mouth opened and closed a few times as if for once words eluded him. Turning his chair to face me proper, I posed a few ways until he nodded to indicate the light was right. I stood in a profile, with a good angle of my hips popping my arse out to him, my shoulders back pushing my breasts out further. Giving him a side look and smirk, he was actually very professional and began to sketch. He drew fast, moving page to page quickly, studying my body intently.  
The fact that he didn’t touch me was quite a turn on. I’ve heard people say things about a look or touch turning them on, well this little endeavor was becoming quite an erotic experience. Watching his face, I found myself wanting to move over to him, and make a move. For someone as blunt and forthcoming as John, it was surprising me how he was only focused on me in an artistic sense. For the time being anyway. Soon, I needed to change my stance, turning forward; I gave him full view of my naked body, thrumming with heat from the wood burning behind me. After a few more moments of drawing, he set his pen and book down and moved over to me. Time moved slow, he tentatively reached to touch my cheek, bringing his ink stained, calloused thumb to my chin. I was ready to open myself for him, the man had turned me on by doing very little except give my body praising attention with his ink pen. Pulling closer to my mouth, his warm breath hovered over my lips. My mouth practically begging for his seductive smirk to invade me, he sensed my want and pressed his lips to mine. Softly at first, but he angled his head and cupped my face, deepening the connection. My mind swirled, with the taste of his lips on mine, I felt dizzy with desire for this man I knew so little about. Tentatively giving a few more heated, wet pecks to my mouth, he pulled away. I sighed deep with obvious disappointment. Opening my eyes again he looked at me straight on, “By the way, it appears I won.” Blinking frantic, I was stunned by the whole occurrence of events. Looking at him completely confused he whispered into my ear “You did end up showing me your tits.” Hitting his arm playfully, he entwined our fingers and pulled me towards the burgundy velvet curtain….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes! A cliffhanger.....I felt I needed a little more story, rather than pure smut! I hope you like the latest chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea I have had for a while, and I'll add chapters as often as I can. This is my first fic! Un-Beta'd So please be kind. Thanks for letting me know what you think!


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